


A Day Like Any Other (Or So He Thought)

by EbonyAura



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cute Ending, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Exhaustion, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Food Issues, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mood Swings, Nausea, Post-Canon, Post-War, Secrets, Sexual References, Surprise Ending, Teasing, srsly op you nasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:36:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyAura/pseuds/EbonyAura
Summary: Something is off about Optimus. Megatron just can’t quite distinguish what it is.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Comments: 11
Kudos: 125





	A Day Like Any Other (Or So He Thought)

**Author's Note:**

> There seems to be a common trend of LET GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO OPTIMUS going around. And you know what I say? LET GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO OPTIMUS. AND MEGATRON.
> 
> Plot? What plot? This is that post-war au where megs and op are done with fighting and just wanna cuddle and kiss and frag til they die. It's so damn fluffy it drowned me and my beta in the sea of feels. We died happy. 
> 
> Yes, the ending's a surprise. There's a certain tag I should've put in, but didn't because it would completely ruin it. It's in the end notes. 
> 
> I don't own anything. Enjoy my silly fluff.

The day started like any other spent in this era of peace; slow and quiet, lit by the nearest star whose light rays peaked over Cybertron’s far horizon.

Megatron onlined when those rays hit his armor, their edge of warmth prickling sensors still receptive from his earliest eons in the mines. He was fully awake in a matter of nanoseconds, his systems charged and primed for another day of expected relentless activity, of battle and anger and the need to  _ survive _ —until his optics opened.

Adjusting to the level of light surrounding him, the ex-warlord found himself on a comfortably-matted surface, wrapped in thick thermal covers and propped up against firm pillows. He looked ahead and found a window taking up the nearest wall, painting before him the Manganese Mountain Range in all the shades of a sunrise. He then looked down, finding a red and blue Iaconian warframe nestled in the crook of his arm. The engines of that frame hummed at a low level, signaling that his conjunx endura was still deep in recharge.

Cables and joints loosened from their immediate tension upon activation, and his processor winded down after acknowledging the false alarm. Megatron let himself lean back against the pillows and headboard of their berth, his vents cycling a few times to regulate atmospheric flow. As he moved his conjunx moaned softly in recharge, shifting at the disturbance of the warm surface he’d been resting on. Megatron stilled at the sound and movement, looking back down as the other settled with him, long limbs curling into the side of his frame as that familiar blue helm nuzzled into his chest plates with a sigh.

He felt the spark within his frame pulse brighter at the sight, the corners of his lip plates curving upwards as the closest servo stroked over the colorful mech’s backplates. The other servo reached up and over to gently clasp his conjunx’s forearm, his thumb rubbing small circles into the red plating as he checked his HUD, registering his system status as well as his calendar and chronometer. As he scanned over the readings and updates his expression thinned, cycling his optics once before glancing back down at the frame which was still at rest.

It seems they’d recharged past their usual time of awakening. Again.

As if his thoughts were an audible sound in themselves, his conjunx shifted again, the light grumble he made carrying itself through the room on the wings of his deep vocals. Megatron’s servos halted as the blue helm on his chest tilted upwards, letting him witness the exact moment when his conjunx’s blue optics opened. It was a rare, captivating moment.

Optimus cycled his optics twice before they focused solely on him, their light blue immediately brightening.

“Good morning,” he hummed, lifting a servo from under the blankets to cover the yawn he couldn’t stifle. “how long have you been up?”

The other warframe’s flight engines rumbled as the servo that still surrounded Optimus returned to stroking his spinal strut.

“Not long.” Megatron replied, tilting his helm up to look out the window at their scenic view lit by the risen sun. “We’ve slept in.”

“Have we?”

It was less of an inquiry then it was a tired acknowledgement as Optimus let his servo fall over the purple sigil on his conjunx’s chest. With it, he turned away from the invading light rays and into the steady, calm rumble of flight engines. Megatron raised an optical brow at the behavior.

“Yes. It’s after dawn. Usually you’re up and about by now preparing for the tasks ahead.”

If it were any other day, the Prime would’ve balked at that realization. Perhaps flew up out of berth to rush through a polish and a morning cube before diving into the day’s schedule. But this day, he did not. Much like a few more odd mornings in the previous lunar cycle, the Prime only closed his optics and snuggled into the comfort of his conjunx and their berth. And much like those previous mornings, it seemed that Megatron would have to be the one to drag the other back into the world of the living.

“Perhaps I’ve decided that after millions of years fighting for our lives, I’d like to sleep in past sunrise.”

The dredges of recharge hushed the Prime’s tone, taming what might’ve been a snappy reply. Megatron’s lip plates curled up again.

“Have you now?” he asked, amusement leaking into his voice. “Shall I presume then that today’s plans will be dismissed in favor of recharge?”

From his vantage point, Megatron watched as one of his conjunx’s optics blinked back open and focused back on him.

“That was never said, nor was it implied.”

He pretended not to notice the rare curl of annoyance in Optimus’s field. Instead he shrugged one of his spiked shoulders and broadened his strokes on the Prime’s back to include his shoulder all the way down to his aft.

“Not that I would mind spending the day here,” he continued with a purr, his servo lingering over the components joining his conjunx’s hip and thigh. “there is much we can do in berth if we cannot find recharge…”

A flash of heat warmed the Prime’s armor at the deliberate touch. Both blue optics instantly snapped open and alert, a small shiver running through his armor. Megatron could not help a chuckle, humored enough by the reaction to not even be despaired by the raised brow and more pronounced displeasure that was thrown at him.

“That was not implied either.”

Optimus deadpanned, but one could easily hear the breathless quality to it that he couldn’t hide. Megatron only smiled wider, his sharp fangs glinting as he brushed his claws over the Prime’s aft again with a wink.

“Oh, but it could be.”

That was, as humans would say, the straw that broke the camel’s back. The Prime huffed and pushed himself off of his conjunx’s chest plates, sitting up to look him better in the optic.

“No. You’ve had me almost every night since this peace began, you can keep it in your panel until tonight.” With that said, Optimus dug himself out of the warmth of the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the berth, only looking back at Megatron as he smoothed over the blankets on his side. “Get up. We have a full day ahead of us.”

This time it was Megatron who made his irritation known, sighing before pulling himself out from under their blankets with a groan. “If you insist, beloved.”

The Prime made quick work or reordering their berth, straightening the pillows on top of the covers before striding out of the room to begin his morning routine. Crimson optics followed his leave, not missing the slight flare to his armor that told him his conjunx was still heated. Whether from his unusually sour mood or Megatron’s implications, he wasn’t sure, but at least it had gotten Optimus up and moving.

The silver warframe smiled to himself as he thought of the way the near star’s rays reflected off his conjunx’s armor. 

***

The Hall of Records was no longer a beacon of a skyscraper in Iacon, nor did it contain towering shelves of datapads and endless rows of workstation terminals.

In this era of peace, rebuilt in the slowly growing settlement of New Iacon, the Hall of Records was a small building. The tops of its shelves barely reached an arm’s length above Megatron’s helm, containing what was left of the datapads salvaged from ruins. The only repairable terminals were stationed on the far side of the building next to a small lounge area, half of the furniture within built by his own servos. Not many survivors came here to this shadow of what used to be a glorious icon of knowledge on their planet.

Megatron found it to be a quaint addition to their growing society; a quiet, out of the way place that held its own kind of charm. Within it one could see the past, the present, and the future all colliding into one being. His old speeches from the days of revolution were kept here, stored on some datapad near the philosophical section. New works slowly trickled in from authors scattered about the galaxy, their words and illustrations positioned by the entrance. And thanks to his and Optimus’s efforts, new works would continue to trickle in, minds of all kinds and perspectives of all peoples welcome to be shared in this age of understanding. ‘It may be small,’ he’d said to his Prime when they reopened the Hall’s doors, ‘but what it stands for is larger than any building of the Golden Age. It is history in the making.’ He remembered the joyous tears that had flooded his conjunx’s optics, and the tears that he himself had been unable to hide.

On this day they stopped in after their morning meal, checking in on its progress as Optimus so often liked to do. Megatron enjoyed it as well, but he enjoyed watching blue optics light up as they entered even more.

He decided to peruse the front shelves while his conjunx conversed with the new Hall’s keeper, a mech who’d recently arrived from one of the neutral colonies. To their pleasant surprise they noted more bots were beginning to visit the new Hall of Records, if the keeper’s word and the vacant spaces on front shelves were any indication. Back and forth between rows he walked, taking in their most recent shipment of datapads from the far quadrants of the Andromeda Galaxy. It seemed to be mostly entertainment literature, mysteries and dramas most popular to those quadrants’ civilizations. But there were a few historical additions, classics he recognized and philosophical works he eyed curiously. He scoffed to himself when he even found a few Earth classics on the shelves.

Primus only knew how many times his conjunx had quoted the works of Shakespeare to him since returning to Cybertron.

Time passed easily in his self-occupation. So easily, in fact, that it was after two hours had passed that he realized he could no longer hear the voices of his conjunx and the keeper behind him. He looked up from where he’d been scanning a shelf of pads in the middle section, crimson optics glancing down the row towards the front. He found the receptionist desk and its keeper behind it, but no Prime. Megatron turned where he was, scanning in between the other rows and finding no trace of red and blue in sight. Blinking in befuddlement, he turned back towards the front and walked in that direction. It did not take long to reach the end of the row and find the entrance section also empty of his Prime.

Wondering how in the name of the Pits he was able to lose another warframe in such a small building, he activated his comm link. He was then stopped from patching through by the sound of someone clearing their vocalizer nearby. Megatron looked up to see the Hall’s keeper smiling nervously (Primus damn his reputation) at him, seeming to sense the unspoken inquiry and pointing a digit towards the terminal workstation and lounge sections. He nodded in thanks before heading that way, soon finding their directions to be correct when a pair of audial fins peeked out from the other side of the shelves. Turning the corner, Megatron found their owner standing at one of the tables in the lounge area reading a datapad in his servo. Beside the Prime stood a small stack of datapads as well. Most likely a stack they would be checking out and taking home later on.

Megatron grinned to himself and shook his helm, intending to approach and stopping when he observed something he hadn’t seen in millennia.

His conjunx’s audial fins  _ moved _ . 

Not very much, of course. It was only a small flick forward before they returned to their rightful place. But if Optimus Prime was known for anything, it was his iron-willed control of his demeanor. Every movement, step, and action were carefully taken; not a single strut or joint out of alignment. This included his finials which, alike to a bot’s electromagnetic field, were the strongest tellers of his emotional state. Orion Pax’s audial fins used to flick and swipe along his helm at the slightest change of state. Megatron could only infer the great lengths of self-control he taught himself in war to keep them still for so long—and there they went  _ again.  _ This time flicking backwards to somewhere around a forty-five degree angle.

What the frag was he reading that could pull the Prime’s iron will right out from under him?

“Optimus?”

The Prime’s audial fins shot back up at the sound of his conjunx’s voice. Megatron did not miss the quickness of his blunt digits in shutting off the datapad. Blue optics rose at his approach, recycling to take in what lay outside of the world of his reading.

“I’ve been searching for you.” he stated when he finally reached the Prime. “The keeper had to point me in the right direction.”

At that, Optimus gave him a somewhat bashful look in return. It reminded Megatron once more of Orion Pax.

“You seemed occupied when I finished conversing with the keeper. I had not meant to disappear on you.”

Much like a young gladiator in eons past, the old Decepticon found himself unable to withstand that look. Scanning the space for unwanted onlookers and finding none, Megatron slid a servo around his conjunx’s side and pulled him a step closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his helm.

“All is forgiven, beloved.”

He purred. Optimus appeared to be near a blush and pointedly turned his helm away, which only made him look all the more endearing. Silver claws continued to slide around until his servo rested over gleaming abdominal plates, as if concluding on their own that he could never be close enough to this being they were bonded to.

“Besides,” Megatron continued, glancing down at the small stack next to them with an amused glint to his optics. “it seems you found yourself busy as well. Are these from the new shipment?”

“Ah, no.” Optimus replied in a way that brought to processor the quickness in which he’d turned off the datapad. “These are old favorites of mine that I had not expected to find.”

Megatron raised an optical brow at that, and then smirked deviously.

“Old favorites, hm? Would you happen to mean certain  _ erotic _ datapads that Orion Pax once enjoyed?”

The Prime’s armor flared up almost as fast as the heat in his spark did, letting go of a wave of air that shimmered around them both. But even as it engulfed them both, even as the Prime turned to him with a mortified expression in his optics, those audial fins stayed where they were on top of his helm.

“I— _ no _ , I—what gave you that impression?!” He sputtered, losing the even flow of word procession and only barely keeping his tone at an acceptable level for inside the Hall. It was a startling mood swing, one Megatron had not meant to provoke. He’d only meant to tease. But he took it in stride, and his smirk did not lessen in the slightest as he reached up to run a gentle claw over one of the fins.

“These used to be very telling in Orion Pax’s time,” he stated, his rasp unwinding between them in the way he knew his conjunx liked. “and unless my optics have deceived me, I recall seeing them twitch just now.”

“My audials—Oh.”

The tail end of Optimus’s retort felt half like a sudden realization and half like it was punched out of him when Megatron’s digit dragged over the fin. The fin only lasted a moment before both of them moved again, swinging to pin themselves completely backwards on his helm. Such a sight was reminiscent of a horse with its ears turned against their neck in anger. Megatron held back a laugh that would’ve surely earned him a night on the couch.

“Do not be ashamed, beloved. You are free to read whatever you please, especially if it gets you in the mood for our nightly activities.”

At that, Optimus’s helm whipped around and branded him with a hard glare.

“They are  _ not _ erotica novels.”

The Prime growled low, which drew a chuckle and a helm tilt from his conjunx.

“No? Then what might they be, my Prime?”

Optimus was silent for a long moment, his optics wandering away to stare at the datapad stack beside them. His fins twitched where they sat, as if trying to decide whether they wanted to stay there or return to their normal upright position. Megatron did not like this silence from his conjunx. He did not like the way Optimus hesitated, or held himself slightly stiff in arms…

But then he relaxed. His audials flicked to their upright position and he looked back towards the silver mech.

“They are old favorites of mine.”

The pair met optics only briefly this time, and Megatron almost let the smirk drop off his face. It was clear that there was more to this topic than was being told. But it was also clear that Optimus would not budge on its revelation. Megatron opted not to push it for now, not with the Prime’s mood so out of balance. He would wait for the ambush to reveal itself, and then set forth in counterattack. For now, Megatron let his smirk soften, pulling his servo away to give the Prime space.

“Very well.” He acquiesced with practiced grace, endeavoring next for diversion. “Since you have such an interest in old favorites today, I found a few works from Earth which might appeal to you. Care to see?” 

Blue optics stared at him for another long moment before Optimus’s vents released a heavy exhale. One side of his lip plates lifted into a quiet grin, and something flashed through his field—perhaps relief? It was not for Megatron to tell.

“Alright.”

Picking up the small stack of datapads, they headed back through the shelves without further discussion.

***

To Megatron’s relief, his conjunx’s mood had improved by the time they reached New Iacon’s gardens.

It used to be an elegant park, marked by statues and sculptures that stood alongside meandering paths and oversized arches. He remembered walking through it once with Orion Pax and hating every klik of it. In the present, all the statues and sculptures were gone; torn down by reckless warfare. The pathways were crumbling, and the arches were almost completely eroded from existence. Only a few rusting markers held the memory of what once stood here. If it were any other day, the old Decepticon would’ve rolled his optics at the idea of a stroll in this rubble-ridden relic of the Golden Age’s ‘high society.’

But today, at the edge of New Iacon, the grounds lived up to their designation. Crystal growths had sprouted from the wreckage, gathered in clumps that glittered bright blue underneath their nearest star. They lay scattered over the area, climbing over ruins like vines and giving new life to these markers of death. Megatron took a preliminary glance at the crystals and saw them for what they were: an indicator that somewhere far beneath, hidden in hazardous caverns and caves, an energon vein flourished. Optimus gazed out at them, as he had many times already, and found himself wonderstruck by this beauty that cultivated on its own. They found each other’s optics, and Megatron was defeated before he even realized it.

So he held out his arm to the Prime, and they walked.

“I will admit, it is good to see these grounds no longer tamed by the influence of the Council.”

Megatron spoke distantly, for once keeping his temper at the thought of the oppressors. Optimus hummed beside him, keeping pace with his long strides as he looked around at the crystal flora.

“They are freed,” the Prime remarked, and there was a hush to his words that took the silver warframe aback. “and thus they flourish.”

Crimson optics were drawn to the Prime that walked at his side, stepping with care to avoid catching any crystals under-pede. A smile pulled at his scarred faceplate, and his free servo drifted close to rub over the black digits on his arm. Optimus recycled his optics and turned to look back up at him.

“As are we. And one day, we  _ all _ will flourish again.”

He stated firmly and was then granted the pleasure of watching his conjunx’s optics widen before they softened. Their gaze became tender, holding all the love that had burned for the old gladiator throughout the eons of war, and blazed ever brighter in this time of tranquility.

“I know we will.”

The grin that accompanied those words was more than enough to confirm it. Megatron’s field pulsed with the fire that he’d felt in his being since their first meetings, sending back the warmth as crimson optics returned to their path.

“Until that day, we continue to rebuild, and we guide Cybertron as best we can so that new generations may move on from the sins of our past.”

Megatron continued with certainty, leading them along the edge a batch of crystal clumps that wound its way around a vine-covered statue. He observed it only for a moment before feeling Optimus’s grip on his arm tighten, and a new weight against his spiked shoulder pauldron. His conjunx had leaned against him with a contented sigh.

“What? Tired already?”

He asked with a chuckle. Optimus returned it as he shook his helm.

“It’s just that—I am recalling the times when you used to speak of revolution. How you stood before crowds, moved them, roused our world to arms against oppression by the wit of your words… I do not believe all of our past actions were sins. Nor did I realize how much I missed hearing you speak until now.”

Megatron slowed a bit as he thought back on the history his conjunx spoke of. It almost felt like a dream, those days in the gladiatorial arena when he chose not just to fight with the blade, but with the intellect no one believed he had. No one except the very few, including his Prime, who’d stood beside him every step of the way.

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” he reminisced, feeling deep in his spark the ancient age that he’d now reached in the present. Not that he would admit it, of course. “We should’ve checked out the compilation of my speeches from the Hall while we were there. I can’t even recite them from memory anymore.”

Optimus chuckled again, straightening to his normal posture.

“I may still have a few of your primary drafts. I do remember helping you to edit the last of your speeches.”

The statement had Megatron thinking for a moment before he hummed in agreement, following his conjunx as he steered them both towards a clear path that circled around a half-crumpled arch.

“I remember. To this day, I still believe them to be the best of our movement’s work.”

He felt more than he saw Optimus’s blush, and Megatron couldn’t help the small bout of pride at his ability to rouse these reactions from the ever-stoic Prime.

“Have you ever thought of writing again?”

The question took him off-guard; he almost stopped in his tracks. Never let it be said that the Prime did not know how to equally affect him in turn. But he soon regained himself enough to put actual thought into the inquiry.

“I have not.” Megatron said honestly, pondering what it’d be like to put his claws to the page once more. To publish works just for the sake of it rather than for the fate of their race. “… But I think I’d like to. The philosophical section of the Hall is quite small these days. Perhaps I’ll revisit the ideas I created in times past and revise them.”

Only a few moments passed before the silver warframe felt something over his claws, and he glanced over once more to see his conjunx’s free servo had curled overtop of his. Those blue optics still held that tenderness which made them so beautiful.

“If you do write again, I’d love to read it.”

Megatron felt a flush of heat from his own systems. Bright crimson optics met blue as he shifted to lift the black servo overtop of his and press a kiss to his conjunx’s digits.

“And I will be happy to share my work with you once more.”

The conversation faded off as they both took in the crystals which grew taller at the far side of the gardens. A klik of silence passed between them, comfortable and fulfilled despite the absence of words. He felt content in all the best of ways, wandering without destination alongside his conjunx. He imagined the whole world, bright and living once more, pausing around them to watch as they passed. Gazing at the legends in its midst—

Optimus halted, pulling his servo away at the same time his engines making a strange, low-pitched whine. Both events were effectively jarring enough to stop Megatron in his tracks and direct his full attention to his conjunx.

“Beloved? Is something wrong?” 

He received no immediate answer. The Prime’s optics had gained an unfocused quality in where they were trained on the ground. The servo he’d taken back was pressed to his intake in a half-clenched fist, as if waiting to hold back something that might come out.

“Are you alright?”

Megatron asked once more, spark beginning to clench when Optimus closed his optics and his engine made another low whine. It was only after another half a klik that he pulled his servo just slightly away from his intake.

“… I’m fine,” he whispered, sounding like the air had been sucked out of his vents. “I just need a moment.”

“What is it?” His conjunx replied immediately, sweeping around to stand in front of the Prime, grasping him by his forearm struts to regain his attention. To keep him talking. “Are you in pain?”

“… Nauseous.”

Optimus admitted after a few nanoseconds, pressing his servo back up against his intake. Megatron recycled his optics in confusion. Why would Prime be—he shook himself and began to look around them. Questions could come later, right now he had priorities which came first.

It didn’t take him long to find a clear patch just ahead, surrounding what looked to be an overturned pillar-like arch. Crystal vines only partially covered it and he found that to be good enough, tugging at the Prime’s arms in a silent order to follow.

“Come here.”

Uneasy on his peds but forever trusting in his conjunx, Optimus took the first step forward without even opening his optics. In the midst of the second step he seemed to realize they were actually moving, and alike to this morning they shot open with clear focus, noticing where he was being led to and shaking his helm.

“Wait—Megatron, this isn’t necessary—”

He tried, but his words were unconvincing when his engine pitched at that strange low intensity. The Decepticon paid them little heed until they reached the clear patch and he steered the Prime to the fallen arch.

“Don’t argue with me, Optimus. Sit.”

Megatron ordered, and his conjunx only returned a short huff as he was lowered onto the pillar. His vents did nothing to hide the exhale of relief for the respite. Megatron watched as his optics shuttered closed and he cradled his forehelm in a servo, his own gaze narrowing as he took a knee before the Prime.

“Is your HUD showing any notifications of a tank malfunction?”

The Prime shook his helm once.

“No… I believe it is just the morning ration not agreeing with me.” 

Today was a banner day for oddities, it seemed, as Megatron caught himself recycling his optics again in befuddlement while he assessed his conjunx.

“I did not think we received any contaminated energon portions. All cubes we’ve consumed thus far have been normal.” He stated, more to himself than anyone, but shared it all the same. “Perhaps we should check our stashes when we get home.”

Optimus only hummed in reply, seemingly focused more on willing away the sudden nausea that plagued him. Megatron tried to offer comfort, taking the free black servo in a tight grip and rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

“Will you be alright for dinner tonight?”

The question hung in between them for a long few nanoseconds until the Prime reopened his optics and concentrated on the silver warframe, as if he’d just registered that he needed to answer. Slowly, he lowered the servo from his intake to place the arm in his lap, bending it at a shallow angle around his pelvis.

“Yes. It is passing. I’ll be fine.”

He resolved. Megatron’s optics narrowed in the slightest.

“You’re sure?” He pressed, the clench in his spark unwavering. “Enhanced energon may upset your systems further. Do not feel you have to see our plans through if it will further affect your health status.”

Because if there was another thing Optimus Prime was known for, it was running himself into the ground. Or cases such as these, running himself to a point of non-functionality because he ignored himself in favor of what had to be done.

The Prime’s black servo was placed atop of Megatron’s once again, squeezing the claw-like digits in reassurance. 

“Yes, love. I’m sure.” His conjunx confirmed, surprisingly patient and somewhat amused by Megatron’s worry. “But if I feel my condition worsen, I will let you know. Alright?”

Taking a short moment to weigh the sincerity of those words, Megatron at last grunted in acceptance. Optimus gave him a thankful, if not exasperated grin, caressing the silver claws in his grasp.

“I would like to see the rest of the gardens, if you would be so inclined as to let me up.”

Fighting the urge to roll his optics, Megatron cursed under his breath at the achy joints in his knees as he rose. He then helped his conjunx up to his peds, letting him take his time in case the fluke of his nauseous spell decided to return. From there, they both decided that distance was overrated, fitting together like puzzle pieces when the Prime slotted himself under a silver arm, and Megatron wrapped that arm around him.

As close as they were, the clench in Megatron’s spark refused to dissipate. 

***

Megatron kept a careful watch on his conjunx for the rest of the cycle, right up until the klik they arrived at one of New Iacon’s newly reopened dining establishments.

If Optimus noticed (which there was no doubt he did, knowing the Decepticon so well), he did not comment on his behavior. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the care and attention, his engines continually humming a light purr from where he’d slotted himself against Megatron’s side. He remained there for the rest of the afternoon, not even moving when they entered the city and started passing by other bots.

The silver warframe didn’t know whether to be more surprised by Optimus’s purposeful ignorance of onlookers, or more impressed at his ‘dignity-be-damned’ attitude when he continued to purr and nuzzle at Megatron’s shoulder as they walked into the restaurant.

The interior itself was nothing grandiose, but it was decorated by a color scheme of deep reds and striking silvers. Strings of lights hung from the ceiling in half-loops, lighting the tables and the crystals placed in their centers. On the far side of the room, one could see an exit to a balcony, where more furniture could be seen just out of the way. Aside from the low amount of noise coming from other attendees, they could pick out the soft ballad of classical music drifting through the atmosphere.

Their greeter, a small femme whom he could safely assume was also from the neutral colonies, rushed their way to wish them a good evening and whisk them to a table. She was steady and professional, despite being faced with the ex-warlord of the Decepticons and the Prime of Cybertron snuggled up to each other like a newly conjunxed couple. And when Megatron interrupted their progress by asking for a table on the balcony, she took it in stride and guided them out the far side of the room. They were soon led to an area enclosed by steel railings, which reflected the glow of the lights strung overhead on similar strings to the ones inside. Choosing a table on the far edge, the couple found that they overlooked the city from where they were, its lights slowly emerging in scattered buildings as the nearest star slowly set over the horizon.

It was admittedly charming and felt remarkably luxurious despite the low funding Megatron knew these venues received. But then again, working medical facilities were marginally more important than fine dining.

“Here are your menus.” The femme began as soon as they both were seated, placing thin pads in front of them both before taking a polite step back and looking between the two warframes. “Is there anything I can get you while you’re deciding on your meals?”

“No thank you,” Optimus answered her, sparing their server a mellow gaze. “We’ll need a few kliks to decide, please.”

“Of course,” the femme acquiesced with a nod of her helm. “I will come back in a few kliks.”

She rushed back inside to attend to other tables, leaving the couple alone on the pleasantly quiet balcony.

Neither of them broke the serenity of their new setting with outward conversation, instead turning to their menus and clicking them on to look over their options. There weren’t very many, just enough to fill up a little over half the screen, but neither of them found any reason to complain over it. They were reminded of their youth in those first few nanoseconds they took in the options, the short lists alike to the menus of Kaon’s bars. Never much, but always enough high grade to overcharge and subdue the arena’s gladiators. Sometimes visiting archivists too, when Megatronus was persuasive enough after a victory. Those occasions usually led to busy night cycles in his berth.

Megatron smiled to himself when those memory files made their way to the front of his processor, deciding to keep that humor to himself. His conjunx was still holding onto his good mood, and as wonderful as his embarrassed expressions were, Megatron preferred to keep it that way.

His point came to fruition a klik or two later when the Prime took his servo and intertwined their digits in the middle of the table, reaching his warm field across to brush it over the Decepticon’s. Then his comm link pinged.

_ :They have Aluminum wafers with Mercury, love.: _

Megatron looked up from his menu for a brief moment, seeing his conjunx still looking over the pad in front of him. He looked back down, pushing his field and the affection within it back against the other’s.

_ :Yes, I see. Would you like to share a portion?: _

He sent back, opting not to focus on how touching it was that Optimus still remembered one of his favorite meals.

_ :I would be amiable to that. Perhaps we could ask for two portions of mid-grade to go with it?: _

Field flaring with amusement, the Decepticon couldn’t help himself when he raised an optical brow and the comment on his glossa slipped.

_ :No high-grade?: _

A brow was raised right back at him, and he could feel the optic roll that Optimus was trying so hard not to do. He shook his blue helm tiredly, but the small smile on his face was unwavering.

_ :You may get high-grade if you wish, but I’ll pass for tonight.: _

He could feel the drip of disappointment that plinked on his spark, knowing how much easier it was to get his conjunx ramped up for an interface when he indulged in high grade. But as it was, he was grateful enough the comment hadn’t caused a mood shift.

_ :Mid-grade sounds like a better idea. Did you notice they have Copper and Cobalt?: _

Megatron’s field pressed at the Prime with a taunting edge, remembering well his conjunx’s favorites. Optimus hummed in quiet acknowledgement when he received the comm.

_ :I’ve noticed them, yes. They have quite a few additive and topping options for mid-grade.: _

Which was true, that specific list spanned from elemental metals to Alkalines and Halogens. A lot of which couldn’t be added to high-grade unless a bot wanted to come out of it with an exploding tank or melted fuel lines. 

Or in the case of those like Tungsten, Bismuth, or Titanium were not in the slightest bit tempting as an additive to energon. (He wouldn’t have ordered any of those even if he’d been offered the Primacy)

Megatron would’ve started to peruse the options at leisure but felt another wave of unmistakable heat come from the field across from him. Recycling his optics, he looked up again to see blue optics already staring back, a faint tinge of a blush surrounding them. Oh… Oh he knew that expression. But he’d only seen it on Orion Pax in the rarest of occasions, when he’d poised his sharp mind and eloquent glossa towards sweet nothings and tender compliments. This expression did not usually belong on Optimus Prime.

Setting down the menu, he squeezed the servo still intertwined in his claws.

_ :And what might that look be for, beloved?: _

To his pleasant surprise, he was able to get a reaction from Optimus’s audial fins. They flicked backwards at a shallow angle as his conjunx averted his optics. Bashfulness rolled off of him in a wave of his field. It was, quite frankly, the most endearing thing he’d seen in millennia.

_ :I am simply enjoying our night out. We have not had the chance to do this in a long time.: _

Where this mood change came from, Megatron didn’t know, but he most certainly wasn’t going to be the one to complain about it. Not when his spark was pulsing so hard in its casing he thought it might jump right out and into his conjunx’s grasp. Hoping that sickeningly lovestruck feeling was not mirrored on face (he needed to maintain some amount of dignity in public), he smiled back and stretched his other arm across to take the other black servo. The action regained the Prime’s attention.

_ :You are right. We have not. And I confess I am enjoying it as well.: _

Those audials whirred and shifted back just a little bit more.

_ :… I am also looking forward to our return home.: _

And just like that, any thoughts of preserving dignity, or his conjunx’s presently  _ wonderful _ disposition, went out the window. From this morning’s embarrassment in the Hall to this—Megatron was shocked for all of two nanoseconds before his flight engines rumbled and purred, an absolutely wicked smirk dancing over his intake. His better sense was unable to stop another comment inserting itself into the conversation.

_ :Admitting your eagerness for tonight’s activities in public! My, my, what behavior! You truly are in a good mood, my dearest.: _

This time Optimus did roll his optics, his audial fins flicking back to their upright position.

_ :Don’t spoil the moment. I’ll kick you out to the couch.: _

Megatron laughed out loud, hearing clearly the condescending but ever slightly humored tone that went with the threat. His wicked grin settled into a genuine smile as he lifted his conjunx’s servo and pressed a kiss to the back.

_ :I wouldn’t dream of it.: _

It was at that moment that the steps of their server intruded, making them both look up as she swiftly entered the balcony and swept towards their table. Regretfully, they settled their fields and each pulled a servo away. But the other pair stayed tightly intertwined. The femme smiled at the couple as she pulled out a pad and writing utensil.

“Have you decided what you would like for this evening?”

Megatron was the first to nod as he picked back up his menu.

“Yes. May we please have the Aluminum Wafers with Mercury?”

“Of course!” The femme chimed, scribbling away before the answer left her intake. “Will there be anything else with that?”

“We would like two portions of mid-grade as well. I’ll have mine with Iron and Zinc.”

He could feel the Prime’s optics roll once more at his choice in the nanoseconds prior to sending him a sly wink. Once a Kaonian, always a Kaonian. This included his preference for hard-tasting mineral metals.

The server’s stylist scribbled over the pad a little longer, then she looked up at the red and blue warframe who was scanning the menu one more time.

“Any additives for your portion?”

“… Tungsten and Titanium,” he answered after a moment of pause, clicking off the pad and sliding it to the edge of the table. “topped with Osmium flakes please?”

Megatron didn’t know whether it was him or the server that blinked and looked up first. For all he knew, it was a simultaneous action on both their parts. He couldn’t blame her, however, when he himself rewound the previous half klik in his processor to be sure he hadn’t misheard his conjunx’s request.

He’d known a lot of bots with strange tastes. Commanding an army and space crew aboard the Nemesis for millions of years gave him a lot of insight about his troops, most of which he wished could be erased from his memory files. Despite their constant depletion of the ship’s fuel and food supplies, the troops always seemed to find different ways to flavor their energon, making odd concoctions that caused even him to be sick to his tanks.

This… was not a combination of additives he’d ever previously heard of. Much less a combination that he’d expect his Prime to request.

Still staring in befuddlement, Megatron didn’t notice at first when their server recovered first, only glancing over at her when she gathered both their menus off the table. Her optics seemed to shine a bit brighter as she tucked them under her arm strut.

“Of course, dear.” She responded with a twitter, smiling at his conjunx as if hearing such a combination was one that had brightened her day. “I’ll have your orders out in a klik.”

With that she rushed off again, leaving the Prime to thank her for the both of them since Megatron was still trying to access the ability to reply. It wasn’t helping that Optimus was sitting there acting normally as ever, like he’d only asked for mid-grade with Copper or Nickel.

His conjunx only realized he was the subject of intense scrutiny when he turned back and found crimson optics locked on him.

“What?”

Physically speaking without the presence of their server broke the pleasant atmosphere of the balcony. He might’ve jolted if he’d been paying attention to it.

“… Osmium?”

The silver warframe finally asked, and the warframe across from him furrowed his brows and slowly nodded.

“… Yes. That is part of what I ordered.”

“Since when do you willingly order energon with Osmium?”

Optimus blinked and raised a brow.

“Is there something wrong with that choice?”

Megatron tried his best not to stutter.

“No, just—you despise Osmium.”

That was putting it lightly. He could think of one memorable occasion when Megatronus, Soundwave, and Orion went to a seedy bar after a particularly nasty fight. At one point, Soundwave and Megatronus left to get them all more high-grade, leaving a tipsy and emotionally exhausted Orion at the table with what he thought were their empty cubes and his unfinished one. But, unluckily for him, Soundwave’s cube still had a few sips of Osmium energon left. Orion didn’t even know he grabbed the wrong cube until he’d thrown it all back in one swig. The gladiators returned to the archivist spitting and hacking all over their table, cursing to such a vulgar degree that Unicron himself would’ve been scandalized.

That was the last time his conjunx had interacted with Osmium. Until now.

“I did.” Optimus answered easily, seemingly confused by the other’s bewilderment. “But I thought I’d give it another try.”

Megatron half wondered if the Prime’s processor had glitched. Not only had he asked for a metal additive he disliked so much he’d ignored the existence of it up to this point. He asked for it along with two of the strongest, most energy-efficient metals on the menu. United with high-grade, this combination would’ve likely overcharged a titan in one gulp.

Was he not just suffering from nausea in the gardens earlier that afternoon? If his conjunx wasn’t going to throw up at the order, Megatron was certain he might.

“… With Tungsten and Titanium?”

Perhaps it was the way he said it. Or maybe it was just that he needed to reiterate the additives. Whatever it might’ve been, it was what caused Optimus to freeze in his seat. His audial fins flew backwards and his optics blew wide, like he was just realizing now that what he’d ordered was, in fact, a weird choice. They stared at each other in silence for a klik, both of them stuck in a rare instance of awkwardness as they tried to figure out something to say. Anything to say.

In the end, they were both beaten to the punch.

Their server walked out from inside the dining room with a large circular tray, startling them both into breaking their awkward stares and the grasp on each other’s servo. They watched as she moved effortlessly in spite of how much she carried, placing the plate of wafers stacked around a small cube of Mercury in the middle of the table. She then placed a silver-tinted cube in front of the Decepticon and a dark but glimmering cube in front of the Prime.

“There you are.” She chirped as everything was set before them. “Please enjoy! I’ll return later on to check up on you.”

All she received in return were muttered thank you’s as she spun and strode over the balcony, leaving them behind in their discomposure.

Megatron turned back to his conjunx, deciding that it may be best to approach this situation from a different angle if he wanted to get more than the embarrassed gawk he’d received. He stopped rather abruptly when he saw that Optimus had already taken his mid-grade in servo, swallowing a small sip before anything could convince him otherwise. Was it to avoid any ensuing conversation or to decide for himself whether ordering what he did was a bad idea?

The answer to such a question was not for Megatron to tell. He was paying more attention to the fact that Optimus drank the energon without a single complaint. Not a cough or hack, no spitting or sputtering, no curses or full-body shudders. Not even a flinch. The Decepticon was flabbergasted when his conjunx finally looked back at him with a meek grin.

“It’s not bad.” He said with a small shrug. “The Osmium gives it a spicy aftertaste.”

Megatron stared dumbly as Optimus took another long sip of his mid-grade, closing his optics as he savored the taste and proved that he liked the concoction more than he let on.

***

By the time they retreated from the city to their home, it was long after the nearest star had set. Cybertron’s moons were high in the sky, surrounded by stars that blanketed the darkness of space. The mountains surrounding them were overtaken by the hush of night, and the sound of their door opening was startlingly loud in their midst.

Optimus paid little mind to it, apparently more grateful to have returned to their little abode far away from the rest of the world. Megatron watched from the door frame as the red and blue limbs disappeared into the darkness, his ped steps sounding off a few more times before they went silent, and the nearest light was clicked on. It lit up their small living room and its mismatched furniture, echoing their imperfect history which had at last led to their union and settlement.

Looking up from the lamp that stood next to one of their couches, the Prime turned to his conjunx. They were silent as they stared at each other for a long moment. One could see the exhaustion in Optimus’s optics even from a distance, but they shined, nevertheless. When he smiled, it was still breathtaking as ever, able to outshine both the sun and the moon.

“Thank you for dinner tonight.” The Prime stated quietly into the space between them. “And thank you for today. It was a wonderful cycle.”

Megatron stared at him for a klik in silence before he slowly closed the door behind him, the latch and lock falling into place with two clicks.

He took two steps into the room and crossed his arms over his chest plates as his crimson optics narrowed into slits.

“Alright. I’ve had enough.”

Optimus’s contented expression fell away immediately at his conjunx’s growl.

“What?”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me.” The Decepticon’s lip plate curled up, exposing some of his sharp denta. “Whatever game you’re trying to play, whatever act you’re trying to perform, it stops now. I will not tolerate any more of your lies, Optimus.”

Blue optics recycled with a shocked flash. His field flared with, dare he say it, hurt.

“What… game?”

Flight engines rumbled dangerously.

“Don’t you play the fool, and don’t attempt to make me into one either! Were four million years of war not enough to convince you that I won’t stand by and allow myself to be made a mindless drone? That I won’t allow disrespect towards me to go unpunished?!”

The Prime’s field recoiled in definite hurt. His optics shimmered.

“What—What are you talking about? What have I done to cause you such anger?”

Megatron took another step forward. Optimus mirrored it with one backward. Odd, the Prime usually stood his ground. He was too furious to be surprised.

“You are keeping secrets from me.” He barked, pointing an accusing claw at the other. “All throughout the day, you’ve played off one oddity after another. You’ve acted as if nothing’s wrong, as if I cannot see past my own servos and notice the obvious! Well I can in fact notice the obvious, thank you very much!”

Optimus was silent when he paused, which was plenty enough encouragement for the Decepticon’s fury to barrel on.

“You slept in past sunrise, wouldn’t even get out of the berth until I goaded you out. You hid the designations of those ‘old favorite’ datapads of yours we checked out from the Hall. Your mood changes faster than a ship in hyperdrive, I can barely keep up anymore! You become nauseous to the point you cannot stand, then you turn around and guzzle Tungsten, Titanium, and Osmium like they’re a lifeline! Now you come back, and you’re tired again?! You should be running circles around the Manganese Mountains by now!”

Megatron threw his servos up in confusion and frustration, missing the moment when his conjunx’s optics widened with slowly-growing comprehension.

“Honestly, Optimus, do you think me foolish enough to not recognize that all of those add up? That there’s probably something wrong with you and you won’t tell me what?!”

He finally stopped, staring down the Prime with glowing crimson optics. Blue optics stared right back, blinking once before their owner replied to the rant that was just thrown at him.

“You’re… angry because you’re worried about me?”

The silver warframe growled and shifted on his peds, his frame wanting to move and pace and prowl, his spark demanding he stand down before he drove his beloved conjunx further away.

“You think I wouldn’t be?! Of course I’m worried about you! This behavior isn’t like you, Optimus. We swore when we ended this war that we would never betray each other again. That we would listen to each other and work through new challenges together. But here you are keeping secrets from me. What has changed since then to make you believe I’m untrustworthy? That I wouldn’t do everything and anything in my power to give you what you needed? That I wouldn’t crawl through Unicron’s Pit and tear this universe down to its knees just to be by your side?”

His declaration rang out through the house like gunfire, sharp and resounding. Any further rant he might’ve launched into was struck into oblivion when Megatron heard shaky ex-vents. He took a klik to really focus on his conjunx, finally noticing the tears that streaked down sterling silver faceplates. They would’ve been cause for more worry if it weren’t for the grin that accompanied them.

It had been a while since Megatron had made so profound a statement of his devotion.

But it seemed to have worked, however, when Optimus inhaled and exhaled, unconsciously rubbing a servo over the other arm strut as he prepared himself for what was to come.

“… I was waiting for a better time to discuss this with you—”

“ _ No. _ ” Megatron cut him off sharply, crossing his arms once more. “For all I know at this point, you could be dying of delayed spark failure. This matter will wait no longer. We are discussing it now _. _ ”

The Prime seemed to shrink in on himself for a moment, his shoulders hunching the slightest bit inwards as his arms curled around his front. It was a display of vulnerability known to very few, one that Megatron had only seen once or twice before. But as soon as it came, it went, and his conjunx righted himself to mirror the Decepticon’s stance, crossing his arms loosely at the bottom of his chest. The grin never left his face plates as he raised a brow at Megatron.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

He asked lightly, his field slowly loosening itself with a strange tinge of amusement. Megatron cocked a hip.

“Absolutely not.”

“Not even if it might actually be good news?”

The Decepticon scoffed.

“You expect me to believe after today that what’s going on could be anything good?”

The Prime met his gaze evenly despite the tear streaks on his face.

“You could stand to be at least a little more open-minded about the situation.”

Megatron’s optical lid twitched.

“I am quite open-minded,” he spoke in a deceitfully calm voice, feeling the annoyance rising in the back of his throat. “but you are pushing me to the extent of my patience. And if you do not tell me what the frag is going on—”

“If this is the extent of your patience,” Optimus interrupted. “Then you have a lot of work to do if you want to be a decent sire by the time our sparkling arrives.”

Megatron scoffed again.

“Oh please, I have plenty enough patience for—”

The weight of his conjunx’s comment slammed into him from behind like the blow of a cannon. Megatron’s vocalizer shorted out as his processor and spark both skidded to a stop, only barely comprehending what was just said. For the second time that night, he stared dumbly at the Prime, his arms falling to his sides. Any and all sensible words caught behind a wall in his throat.

“…. What?”

Optimus’s grin began to widen.

“You heard me.”

He had. But neither the spark in his chest nor the processor in his helm seemed capable of actually handling the statement. Megatron had to repeatedly reboot his vocalizer to get words out.

“You… You mean you… You’re…”

The Decepticon felt his conjunx’s field reach out to touch his. It took him a klik to gain enough coordination to let his field reach back. When they touched, the feel of Optimus’s emotions swept over him like a tidal wave. Within it he could feel all-encompassing warmth, amused fondness, and unbridled joy shining like the electricity in those cerulean blue optics. It was an awe-striking experience, alike to the first time they entered their mountain abode after so long apart. Alike to coming home.

More tears streamed down his conjunx’s face plate as he nodded.

“I am.” Optimus spoke softly, his own arms unfolding just enough to then wrap securely around his abdomen. “I’m carrying, Megatron.”

The last three words registered to his audials just before his spark erupted. Like a supernova it pulsed faster and faster until it expanded in its casing, producing a spark flash so strong that light emerged from the seams of his plating. Before the silver warframe could process it, he was moving. His field was crashing into the Prime’s, flooding the closing space between them with love and excitement and adoration and enthusiasm and passion. He was wrapping his arms around his conjunx. He was picking him up off the ground, spinning them both in a tight circle in the middle of their living room. He was stumbling backwards, landing hard on one of their couches and pulling Optimus with him, laying him overtop of his own frame. He was kissing him all over his faceplates, all over his helm and audials, anywhere he could reach. He couldn’t stop.

Megatron’s processor kicked into gear at the sound of Optimus’s lovely baritone vocals above him. He was laughing. He was crying. Primus below, the silver warframe could feel coolant running over the scars on his faceplates. Frag it all, he was so happy. They were going to have a sparkling. He was going to be a sire.

Taking Optimus by the chin, he sealed their intakes in a proper kiss, savoring the low moan and shudder he felt emanate from his conjunx at the intimate touch. They broke apart a few kliks later, heavy ventilations running through them both as they pressed their forehelms together. Right now they couldn’t stand distance. They could never be close enough.

“… How far along are you?”

Megatron croaked, nuzzling at one of the audial fins he could never get enough of. Optimus’s engine purred at the attention.

“Ratchet estimated—” he breathed, cutting off into a sigh when his conjunx ran careful claws up and down his spinal strut. “—that I am about four weeks into gestation. I only found out about it when I visited his new clinic two days ago.”

Primus, it was still so early into the process. His spark felt overwhelmed, floating adrift in a sea of ecstatic emotions. He wondered briefly which night it might’ve been, which merge might’ve been the one to twine a piece of their sparks together and create the new life now nestled deep within his conjunx.

Not that it actually mattered. Whatever one it might’ve been, it still led them to here and now.

Their engines purred in tandem, a low and constant sound that grounded the mess that was their fields lazily weaved into each other. Megatron left a tender kiss at the base of the Prime’s audial before leaning back, his expression filled with love and a small amount of incredulousness.

“You’ve known you’re carrying for two whole days and in that time couldn’t come up with a single decent way to tell me?”

The Prime shoved a servo at his conjunx’s shoulder.

“Be quiet, you!” He whined, shifting over to reassert himself on his side in the cozy crook between the silver warframe and the couch. The Prime’s helm came to rest on the bicep of a silver arm strut. “It’s a life-changing announcement. I wanted to make it special.”

The incredulousness in Megatron’s expression had yet to fade, but it also grew fond as he watched his conjunx snuggle against his side.

“I’ll give you credit for creativity, but that’s the only praise you’ll get from me.”

Optimus snorted and shook his helm at that, turning into the Decepticon’s frame like he did earlier that morning. Megatron propped his helm up on the armrest of the couch, his optics sliding down to gaze at the being in his grasp. Now that he’d at last reached a state where he could think, the odd and misplaced events immediately rearranged themselves to connect. Everything that had happened today replayed itself in pieces, boiling down to the same delightful conclusion.

“So, the exhaustion and longer recharge cycles,” Megatron began, grasping one of the Prime’s servos that had fallen over his chest. “those can be attributed to your gestation?”

His conjunx nodded against his armor.

“Ratchet noted that exhaustion is to be expected. Especially early on in the process when the new spark is still feeding from the energy of mine.”

Megatron hummed in acknowledgement.

“Your mood swings?”

“Also to be expected, and also due to sharing my spark energy. But other symptoms will likely contribute to it and increase its longevity.”

The Decepticon couldn’t decide whether to be more entertained or fearful of that development.

“The datapads you checked out this morning?”

“They pertain to the gestation process and preparation methods for sparklings. I was told to gather literature on the subject, but I knew if you saw them you would figure it out immediately.”

To that Megatron huffed lightly.

“At least that encounter wouldn’t have ended with an argument.”

He muttered, to which Optimus raised his helm to look at him skeptically.

“If you had reacted in the Hall in any way like you did here, the keeper would’ve thrown you out.”

Which was true, but Megatron wasn’t about to admit it. He continued before his conjunx could point him out.

“I’ll assume at this stage that your nausea and your odd preference in fuel can also be attributed to carrying?”

He felt more than he heard the groan of dismay as Optimus laid back down in his crook of warmth, but eventually there was a nod.

“Yes. Ratchet said that the construction of the sparkling’s frame would cause a chemical imbalance in my systems, which would more than likely cause an upset in my tank functionality… He also said that cravings for certain high-strength metals were to be expected during construction.”

“Amusement bled back into Megatron’s field at the statement.

Then perhaps I should travel to the city tomorrow to get you more Osmium.” He mused with a chuckle, letting a servo slide down to give his conjunx’s abdomen a few light pats. “We wouldn’t want you consuming the house in its stead, now would we?”

The comment earned him an embarrassed glare and a pair of audial fins flicking away to pin themselves to the back of Optimus’s helm. Megatron was so pleased with life at the moment that he couldn’t do more than laugh and lean forward to kiss away the un-Primely pout. 

When they parted, they gazed at each other in silence for a klik, Megatron’s optics becoming contemplative. One klik turned into another, and the silver warframe slowly sat up. The Prime blinked at the movement but followed, pushing himself up to sit and face his conjunx. There was a sudden change in Megatron’s field, less lazy and more determined. Less overwhelmed and more protective.

“… I am serious, though,” He stated at last, gathering both of the Prime’s servos. “If you want or need anything, tell me. If you’re feeling unwell, do  _ not  _ attempt to hide it from me. I will drag Ratchet up here and let him berate you if I have to. Let me help you, beloved. I will do whatever it takes to make this carriage cycle easier on you. I swear it.”

It only took a few nanoseconds for the Prime’s optics to shimmer once more, overwhelmed and contented at Megatron’s already strong dedication towards him and their sparkling. He couldn’t find the words, inventing unsteadily while he nodded in assent. 

He was further taken by surprise when Megatron bent at the hip to be level with his abdomen. Releasing his servos, those silver claws came up to cradle his sides, each digit spanning from front to back around the currently thin waist. The silver warframe then crept the rest of the way forward, pressing one kiss, then two, then three to his belly.

“That goes for you too, little one.” Megatron crooned lowly, his field wrapping around the carrier like a blanket as he addressed their unborn progeny. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, you shall have it.”

The Decepticon nuzzled at the area over his gestation chamber, making his conjunx coo as his spark danced in its casing. 

“Even if your choice of additive combinations disgusts me.”

Optimus laughed quietly, unable to hold back the tears as he wrapped his servos around his conjunx’s wide shoulder spikes and melted against him.

What a day this had become.

And what a day tomorrow would soon be. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *Loud Whisper*  
> THERE'S MECH PREG IN HEEEEEEEERE
> 
> Shoutout to the lovely FellowRobophilia for beta-reading this fic :3
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed!


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